


Lambrini Does Not Belong In The Fridge

by RiseTheHorizon



Category: BiscuitFaceGaming, CaniSports
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-20 15:09:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17624717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiseTheHorizon/pseuds/RiseTheHorizon
Summary: I'm twenty fucking years old and straight.





	Lambrini Does Not Belong In The Fridge

Dandelion, Burdock and my soft right hand, Saturday night alone at home again. I haven’t found myself in the company of anyone else lately. I just want someone to make an egg sandwich with, is that so much to ask?

 

I didn’t feel like going doon’ the toon’ partially because I don’t have enough money to do anything fun but mainly because the way I have to go is all uphill, I’m not made of muscle, man. Haway. I am hardly made of muscle, that’s why I always keep the camera on my Twitch streams from the shoulder up, no one’ll suspect a thing - Discount Greek God here.

 

Wait, what was that, what is happening? Oh, it’s my phone making noise, calm down. My mind is weird. My mind is oddly referential. My mind oddly references itself as if some other person is taking advantage out of it for entertainment purposes… Anyway, why is my phone making noise?

 

_ CaniSports just uploaded a new video! ROAD TO … _

 

Flip my fishcake and call me Suzanna, Cani just put out something new, don’t fail me now right hand.

 

_ “Hey, what’s going on today guys?” _

 

Not a lot is going on mate, that’s why I am here, wanking over some 7/10 on YouTube.

 

_ “Today, I have got this 100k pack.” _

 

Tell you what, I know something that you can pack into me… Hoyoioioioi!

 

_ “Okay, we got Cavani, that’s not so bad.” _

 

I want that beard, I want that beard inside of me, my beard reeks of shit. I mean, not literally but, it is just fucking shite. His beard has charisma, my beard would snatch a bottle of Lambrini and a tin of bacchie from a helpless homeless fella on his way to see its favourite footy team get relegated again.

 

{My beard is a Mackem - That was the alternate title.}

 

His beard could butter up a bagel without any going through the hole, my beard would spear a slice with cold butter and cheap, Netto quality bread. Beard. Beard. Boostage, Cani probably whacks some oil on that bad boy before bed. The only thing that I whack on me before going to bed is a quilt.

 

I’m not even gay and I’m already halfway to splooge central. What am I doing?

 

_ “De Gea, get in, we got De Gea.” _

 

Get in, I’ll remember that, like get in my mouth. Just imagine Cani in my mouth, my curly beard hair getting tangled up in some of his curly hair, fucking imagine that shit… No, actually imagine that shit. Facial kindling rubbing against each other igniting an erotic bonfire. Sensual moans heightened by curdling vocal fry by the taboo of the whole affair. Sweet, sweet vocal fry, nonsensical words can be transformed into the unimaginable. The unimaginable, what am I saying anymore, eggy schmeggy Tuesday… Aye.

 

[As the reader, I would like you to imagine the cliffs of Dover falling into an infinite sea of milk, occasionally broken up by brown thorns of curl. That is the visual representation of what was happening in Biccy’s boxers.]

 

Aah¬!

Aah¬!

Oh, oh, oh.

AAAAAAAAAAAH¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬!

 

Holy shit sticks on a margarita pizza, that was the best ever.

 

_ “Take care… and peace.” _

 

Take care Cani, take care.


End file.
